“Along yon trackless heath, his dreary way,
Mutt’ring ten thousand curses, he explor’d:
Now starting, wild with terror and dismay,
Now dreading yet th’ unfathomable ford.
“That morn we missed him ope his cottage door,
Within the barn, and on the bowling green;
Another fill’d his chair at dinner hour:
Nor at the sports, nor ale-house was he seen.
“At night, by friends and neighbours homeward borne,
We saw him pillow’d on the couch of rest,